


The Fylgja

by eag



Series: The Vardøgr [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bruce Banner cooks dinner, Bruce Banner plays the piano, Bruce is kidnapped, Cats, Complicated Friendships, Denial of Feelings, Female Loki, Gen, Loki Flouncing, Loki has a Genius Plan, Loki throws a giant hissy fit, Love, M/M, Sad Bruce Banner, Sad Loki, Shapeshifting, Slow Burn, Tony Stark makes a proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 12:14:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2772629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eag/pseuds/eag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The terms of friendship are forever changed when Bruce is kidnapped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Outside, it was raining but Bruce didn't care. It was too hot inside, stuffy, with the humidity of too many pairs of lungs processing and recycling the same air. Though he knew it was a silly thought, it felt to him as though there was not one molecule of O2 that had not been run several times through a dozen set of lungs; he needed some fresh air and he needed it immediately.

So he ducked out onto the balcony, letting the heavy French doors close behind him. Absently, he set down the glass of champagne that had been pressed into his hand, having held it long enough for the toast, taken a few obligatory sips that these functions seemed to always call for, and promptly forgotten about its existence.

Rain misted his good suit and his glasses, leaving tiny droplets of water on his hair. It was cold out here, cold enough to make him shiver almost uncontrollably for a minute or so until homeostasis set in. Humidity, he thought. Curling his hair wildly, making the cold seem colder...briefly he longed for his house, and imagined being curled up by the fireplace for the duration of winter. At least back there...at least it was a dry cold. Bruce found himself smiling to himself, amused by the bad joke.

“Finally found a hideout? I'm surprised it took you so long to sneak out of there. Good talk, by the way. Good poster. I liked what you've been doing with that harmonic oscillation stuff. How's it feel, being back in the Big Apple? Good? Hey, you should come back to my place, we'll have a drink. Order some pizza. Falafel. Falafel pizza. I've had that, it's good. Whatever you like.” 

Bruce smiled a little to himself, leaning on the stone balustrade, feeling the cold damp seep in through two layers of clothing. “Nice to see you too, Tony.”

Stark came over beside him leaning on the balustrade as well, giving him a quick once-over with those sharp, dark eyes that missed nothing. 

“I see you've de-hermited from your secret desert lair,” Stark gestured lazily, half-empty champagne glass in hand.

“I guess you could say that.” Bruce looked down over the railing; it was a dizzying drop; they were on the top floor of a grand hotel in Manhattan. “But I do give papers a few times a year at these sorts of things. Just not usually so fancy.”

“Right. I saw your talk last year in Boston. Part of the deal, isn't it?” Stark gave him a shrewd look. “That's what you get when you have your soul in hock to academia. Now, you know if you worked for private industry, you wouldn't have to deal with this conference bullshit. Not unless you wanted to. So when are you going to come and have a drink with me? And you know, maybe stay for a while, do some work with me? I've got this great project where I'm-”

Bruce raised his hands, almost a defensive gesture. “I'm sorry, I've got my hands full already...”

“Oh, come on. Come over for the evening. I'll bring out the good stuff to celebrate. I've got a bottle of Macallan that comes to just under $2,000 a drink. No? Too rich for your taste? It's really only about $1,700 and change, but I was rounding pretty liberally. Hell, I'm rounding pretty liberally there too. How about some soda then? I've got one of those fancy soda makers and I've got some pretty tasty flavoring agents I brewed up myself. Or maybe just a nice cup of tea. Last week some suppliers came from China and they gave me some good stuff, corporate gifts you know, real nice Oolongs and Jasmines and some other crap that comes in these red satin-lined boxes-”

Bruce chuckled, stepping away from the balcony as the rain began to come down in earnest. “No thank you. I've got a train to catch tomorrow.”

“Going home already? But you just got here. You should do some sight-seeing. You been to the Statue of Liberty? That's a nice tour. Come on, you ought to come over. Actually, screw the Statue of Liberty; I've got time booked at the LHC the day after tomorrow; you can fly out with me in the morning to Switzerland. Private jet, my treat. We'll get some of those little croissants and hot chocolate for breakfast, and there's this really great hole-in-the-wall schnitzel place I know that's not too far from CERN. Then we can run that little experiment of yours; you can actually run the data yourself instead of relying on other sources like that damned German research group that's always-”

“Sorry.” Bruce smiled faintly, regretfully. He had always wanted to see the LHC for himself, but not under circumstances like this.

“Sorry? Then is that a maybe or-”

“Thanks for thinking of me. I mean, for going through all the trouble of setting all of this up. But I have to respectfully decline. I mean, I know what this would be like.” 

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. A little bit like a deal with the devil.”

A sharp glint appeared in Stark's eyes. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“I stay a day...maybe it stretches to two. But you'll keep finding stuff to keep me interested. It'll just keep going on like that. Next thing I know I'm moving into Stark Tower-”

“Hey, don't flatter yourself. This isn't a marriage proposal. Just a research one.”

“Yeah, I get it. I didn't mean it that way. But...sorry. Those academic research grants might be paying my bills, but at least I'm paying them myself. I...I'd rather not be dependent on anyone.”

Stark was bristling with indignation, but then suddenly he just laughed and all the tension between them melted away. “Sure, I get it. I mean, it's not like I wouldn't be paying you for all this, but you gotta be your own boss. Same answer as always, just with different words. Direct but polite as usual, Bruce. That's why I always liked you; you like doing things your own way and you won't let anyone steamroller you into anything else. Well, thanks for being honest. It's a nice change of pace from all the asskissers that I have to deal with every day. I'll have to think of something else to get you to come over. You know you're always welcome. Hey, you sure you won't come over for that drink? We should have our own after-party.”

“No thanks. I need to go to bed.”

“You can sleep on the train. Come on, the food here sucks. We'll get something good. I know a great 24 hour pho place that's like two blocks from Stark Tower. You can't come to New York City and not do anything but work--”

“Good night, Tony.” Bruce smiled, slipping back into the reception, disappearing into the crowd.

“Well, no one said I didn't try.” Stark said to himself, and emptied the remains of his champagne glass in one long gulp, handing it over to a surprised waiter as he walked back in.

*****

It was another hour or so before Bruce could retreat to his hotel room. There was a pristine, antiseptic quality to the room with its crisp linens and polished furniture that made him feel strangely unsettled. As he went to stand by the big hotel window, the glass showing his reflection superimposed onto the glowing cityscape, he recognized what he was feeling. He always felt this way after a big presentation, an odd hollowness that followed after the giddy shock of success. He stared out the window for a while, looking at the sweep of streets and the slow pulse of cars as they picked their way slowly through traffic.

I'm just feeling lonely. He couldn't say the words out loud, not even himself, but he thought that at his dark reflection over the city before he went through the comforting motions of brushing his teeth and changing into pajamas.

He made a face at himself in the mirror after cleaning up, a wry look, feeling foolish for indulging in self-pity. It wasn't as if he hadn't made his own choices; it wasn't as if he was forced to say no.

“I guess I could have said yes.” And what did that get, but a gilded cage?

“Said yes to Tony Stark? Or to something else...?” His reflection spoke back to him. It took him a bare second to realize that the voice wasn't quite his.

“Very funny, Loki.” Bruce turned, leaning against the counter as Loki appeared in the doorway of the bathroom behind him. “How long have you been following me around?”

“Oh, not long at all. I was just in the neighborhood.” Loki smiled, eyes sparkling with faint malice. Loki looked the same as he did when Bruce last saw him, but for the sleek gray business suit and neat-combed hair. Bruce did the math; it had been just over a year. “I thought I'd come and visit. After all, the cost for one inhabitant in a room like this is the same as two.”

“I could make you sleep on the couch.”

“But you won't.” They smiled at each other a little; it was an old joke. 

Bruce wasn't sure exactly how they had grown so domesticated together, as if close friends or siblings. Bruce remembered the first winter Loki stayed with him, where Loki had managed with the old twin bed and he slept on the couch. Then one evening Bruce had come home from a day of getting supplies and groceries to find the twin bed gone, replaced by a grand bed of unknown origins. It made sense; the big bed was more suitable for Loki's height, so he shrugged it off, even though the bed took up most of the space in the bedroom. And then, it was a mere day before Loki talked him into sharing it, as chastely as brothers. When he put his mind to it, Bruce thought, Loki could damn near charm the stars from the sky.

“Did you really come here just to crash? Or is there something else you want?” Bruce yawned, heading over to the bed to fold it back, pouring himself a glass of water and doing all the little things he liked to have ready before sleep.. 

“Really, Bruce. I just wanted to see you.” Loki shrugged out of his suit jacket, hanging it up neatly. “Besides, what happened to, 'Oh, I missed you Loki!' or 'I was so lonely without you, Loki?'”

“I didn't think I wanted to know.” Bruce frowned, wondering why the things Loki said seemed to be a little too unpleasantly close to the mark.

At that, Loki laughed. “I love your honesty, Bruce. As a matter of fact, I came because I was concerned for your well-being. Your health.”

“My...what?”

“I noticed you don't seem like you've been sleeping well. And you always sleep well.”

“I'm just tired from traveling, that's all.” Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don't travel well.”

“But it's been longer than this.”

“How do you...how do you know these things?” Bruce gave him a suspicious glare, and Loki just shrugged. 

“I make it my business,” Loki said primly. “Now...” He leaned over to fluff Bruce's pillow. “There, all better. Get some sleep, Bruce.”

Bruce ignored Loki as best as he could, and got into bed. He was almost completely asleep when Loki finally turned out the last of the lights. The bed gave a little shudder as Loki climbed in on the far side. Bruce felt something inside of him unclench, something that he didn't even know had been tensed up. As Bruce fell asleep, he wondered; how odd was it, that having Loki nearby seemed to be of comfort.


	2. Chapter 2

Bruce wasn't sure how it happened; there was a memory of something that set him off, some blighted injustice he could not stand for, and suddenly, he woke with a snap. He could feel his pulse pounding, his breathing coming ragged and uneven, and then suddenly he realized that if there was something he could remember, it was that he was sure he was angry. Not that low seethe of annoyance that seemed to follow him around whenever he let his thoughts wander, but a black, vicious rage that was looking for an excuse to lash out. 

A jolt of fear ran through him; where was he again? Was it somewhere where he could safely be angry? But then was there really any place that was safe? Suddenly, the anger took a hold of him, and he could feel every cell, every molecule dancing to the anger's siren song. His nightclothes shredded as his mass changed, the thick comforter tore in his grip, and it was no more to him than the tearing of a scrap of waste paper between his fingers. 

A sound snuck out past his lips; it was an inhuman growl, a gratifying snarl that seemed to encompass every ounce of vicious hatred in his body.

Suddenly, just as he was nearly the beast completely, the other self that had been so long denied, the bed disappeared beneath him and he found himself tumbling into a deep snowdrift, body pinioned and protected by an unknown force. The jolt of surprise snapped him out of his transformation, and he felt the sudden break with the other self as if a sneeze denied, an unsettled pent-up sensation that left him shaken and frustrated, shivering in his tattered pajamas.

Bruce's eyes focused, and he suddenly realized how he had gotten outside, into a disturbingly familiar wilderness of snow and ice and tundra.

“Loki...?”

Loki's arms were around him, and for a brief moment Bruce felt only comfort and a strange longing. Carefully, Loki let Bruce go once their eyes met and he ascertained Bruce's state of mind.

“Did I really? In my sleep...”

“It seems you did.” Loki brushed Bruce's hair back from his forehead. “It's all right though. No harm done.”

“You saved me.” Loki helped Bruce up, putting an arm around him solicitously, so that his heavy Asgardian cloak shielded Bruce's bare skin from the worst of the icy wind. “I-I'm sorry. I mean, about all of this. I don't know what to say...” 

“You don't have to explain anything to me.”

Bruce leaned heavily against Loki. “I just...I want to go home-”

He tried to imagine what it would take to get home. For a moment, it seemed that he was in two places at once, both in a vast snowy wasteland where the snow began to fall with earnest, blotting out his view of Loki, and at a major international conference in New York. Bruce's mind drifted, wondering how he would catch his train back and was it Monday still or was it Tuesday already...and then when the cool gray light of the rising sun seeped in through window where he had forgotten to close the drapes, he realized it was just a dream.

Bruce glanced over at Loki, deeply and pleasantly asleep on the far side of the bed. He slipped out of bed and drew the drapes shut. The room fell into deep shadow, and he climbed back in bed with a sigh, closing his eyes and trying to rest for another hour or so until it was really time to get up. But he could still feel the uncomfortable thump of his heart, and that nagging fear that he somehow could lose control without even knowing it, perhaps because of a nightmare or some other nocturnal derangement.

“Bruce.” Bruce could hear Loki shifting in bed, turning over to face him.

“Yes?”

“Was it a dream that's gotten your heart pounding? Or...”

It took Bruce a moment to realize Loki was flirting. “Yeah. I mean, just a dream. A bad dream, that's all.”

“Is that why you haven't been sleeping well?”

Without meaning to, Bruce found himself out of bed, as if the words had jolted him into action. “No. I mean, that's not it. I'm sure it's a much more obvious reason. Work, diet, exercise...”

“Something's disturbed your peace of mind.” Loki propped himself up on one elbow. “Are you afraid of-”

“No.” Bruce shook his head. “Not at all. Never. I...am in control of myself and...that other guy. I have been for years.” He said the words carefully, and then repeated them in his mind a few times, as if the mantra would keep the fear and the ever-present awareness of that other self at bay.

“Oh Bruce, you are the worst liar. All right, I won't pry.” From one breath to the next, Loki was standing by the coffee machine, dressed and giving the machine a little glance. Immediately, coffee began to brew. 

“When you say that, I know you'll pry.” Bruce paused mid-pace to let Loki hand him a cup of steaming coffee. 

Loki smiled faintly to himself and did what worked best in these cases, distraction. “I think perhaps you just need a vacation from yourself.” Loki poured himself a cup, and took a sip of the bitter liquid. He never quite saw why Bruce enjoyed it, but it was not a displeasing drink. 

“...I don't follow.”

“You're constantly with...well, that 'other guy,' as you call him Don't you tire of his constant presence? I think you could use a break. A separation.” Loki made a little gesture with his finger, and split himself into two, one walking to open the drapes to let the sunlight in, the other continuing to talk. “I do it all the time.”

“Loki, this is a terrible idea. We've had enough problems with your copies...”

“No, it's not like that at all. It's just a few days off from yourself. A little vacation.”

Bruce gave Loki a skeptical look. “I'm not...magic. I can't just split myself in half...”

“Oh, it's much easier with you.” Loki gestured, and his other self disappeared, leaving only one of him. “It's just a potion, really. I suppose it can be a pill or a spell, but I figured you'd prefer the sentiment of a magic potion.”

Bruce half-choked on his coffee. “A magic potion? And that's supposed to...fix what's wrong with me?”

“Oh no, it's not really a curative.” Loki smirked. “Just a little break from yourself. A mini vacation.”

“No thanks, Loki. It sounds too good to be true.”

“Nonsense. When have I ever led you astray?” Loki gave Bruce his most innocent smile.

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

“I'm not trying to trick you, Bruce. I promise, this will work and I promise it's perfectly harmless.”

“Just...let me think about this.” Loki heard the door close on the bathroom, and thought there was a hint of frustration in the way that the door was closed. He waited. At this point it was just a matter of time before Bruce caved. 

 

It hadn't really tasted like anything. Bruce had braced himself; what kind of flavor would a magic potion have? Bitter? Medicinal? Sparkling and fizzy? But it was almost disappointingly dull, like slightly metallic tap water.

“Somehow I feel like I'm going to regret this...” But he had drunk it anyway, and for a few minutes it didn't seem like anything would happen. He sat there expectant, wondering how he was supposed to feel, other than slightly foolish.

“Just wait.” Loki had said that with authority, keeping a sharp eye on Bruce. And then a little hint of panic set in; what if the potion would do the opposite? Could there have been some substance that he should have asked about before foolishly ingesting? But then it opened a Pandora's box of questions that he could not quite answer, about how he had let Loki talk him into foolhardy adventures, about why he was harboring an intergalactic fugitive, and some other unpleasant questions that Bruce preferred to keep at bay.

So Bruce had done what Loki wanted, again, and he could not really explain why. He sat on the bed, trying not to fidget and failing, but by the time he lost that battle against getting up to pace the room, he suddenly paused.

“Wait. Something...”

“Something's different, isn't it?”

And like a sudden easing of tension, like a headache lifted so that the memory of the pain seemed curiously foreign, remembered for its sharpness but almost illusionary without its presence, that other guy was gone.

It was the first time that Bruce had been alone in his head for nearly a decade.

Silently, Bruce sat, eyes half-closed, trying to search inside of him for that other self, to feel the weight and the faint unease of that other self stirring deep inside, but it was gone. An empty space inside where that other guy had been chained, forcibly kept dormant.

“I...this is...oh, Loki...”

“See? A little vacation.” Loki smiled, enjoying Bruce's bewilderment and the sudden and innocent look of pleasure that crossed Bruce's face.

“I-I could get used to this.” Bruce laughed. “I...don't even know what to do with myself!”

“Do something fun,” Loki suggested.

“Loki, you know I don't know how to do that,” Bruce joked. “All right, I'll think of something. In the meantime, I should get moving. I have a train to catch.”

“All right. Then I suppose I'll see you at home.” Loki came over and clasped Bruce's hand briefly, cool fingers giving his hand a squeeze.

“Yes, of course. Thank you.” Bruce smiled at Loki, a smile filled with pleasure, and impulsively squeezed Loki's hand in return. “Thank you...” 

*****

Terribly pleased with himself, Bruce had no idea that he was walking straight into a trap. Once he had checked in at the train depot, he slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and headed for the platform. Aboard the train, he handed his bag to an attendant and followed dutifully to the sleeper cars. It was an extremely professional job; he couldn't even castigate himself for not paying attention; they had done their research. The second he walked into the room, he had been tranquilized without warning, so quick that he didn't have time to register it. Only sudden unconsciousness, followed by a waking many hours later.

Bruce had a dim recollection of walking out of the train station in Chicago, of boarding a private car and even of speaking to the train conductor, but whether it had actually happened or if it was a memory or a dream, he could not know for sure. Whatever drugs that had been used, it was almost a perfectly surgical slice out of his memory, as if a cut filmstrip re-pasted against section further along in time.

He sat up, still in his travel clothes. His bag was on the table neatly beside him, but he could tell at a glance that it had been rifled through and carefully repacked to look as if it had been untouched. He felt strangely at peace, without any sensation of nausea or headache, nothing that indicated that he had been drugged, merely that he had been asleep for some time and was now awake. 

He checked his watch. At a guess, it was slightly more than a day since he had boarded the train. So perhaps Chicago had happened and he was just not fully aware of it. The thought was troubling.

The room around him was meticulously appointed, in a muted fashionable way, with rich upholstery and dark wood, but bright enough with sun streaming in from outside, tinted a cool green by the shade of tall, young trees. Bruce stood and walked over to the window. Judging from the species of plants and trees he could make no assumptions about where he was; they were merely a blend of common ornamentals that could have been native or introduced. He could be almost anywhere that was within about a ten to fifteen hour flight from Chicago. He tapped the large plate glass window panes; they were some kind of heavy tactical glass, bulletproof at the minimum. He wondered who would take such trouble, and wondered if they knew about the other guy. 

A cold shiver went through him at that thought, the fear of capture and experimentation, but then again the room did not look like a cage. It was a normal wood frame building built to custom specifications for aesthetic appeal and not for any nefarious purpose that he could deduct. He looked around the room and found a few interconnecting rooms, a lavish bathroom, a dining area overlooking the garden that he saw from the bedroom, and even an office with a large connected laboratory and a well-stocked library. He checked all the external doors; they were all locked, but for the one that led to a small, high-walled garden.

Bruce scowled to himself; it was embarrassingly obvious that something like this was just waiting to happen. Intentionally, his travel routines were always non-linear by nature; he hated the idea of S.H.I.E.L.D. and its affiliates tracking him, so he tended to do his damnedest to shake signs of pursuit even though logically he knew that it was pointless as they knew where he lived. It was his minor attempt at independence and rebellion. But now...it had walked him into a trap, one where no one might know that he was gone until the trail grew too cold to find him.

_Looks like you've made it to the super science big leagues now, Banner. Kidnapped to do research._

He wondered who wanted him and what for.

Had he been able to transform, he would have easily ripped out of this room, tactical glass or not. Even the few steel beams he guessed lay under the majority of wood frame would have easily bent under his hands. But there were a few factors stopping him; one that he didn't know how much his captors knew about him and he was not about to show all his cards, another was the fear of the other guy in a possibly large urban center. But then there was the obvious; the other guy was just...currently not available.

“Oh for crying out loud...” Bruce said aloud, and then wondered if that was being captured on camera. He closed his mouth, deciding to keep to himself in case of constant surveillance. He looked around, deciding to check the rooms over again, but this time for recording devices.

There was a little shift under his feet, a subtle movement that he didn't notice before but now that he was aware of it, it was obvious. It cleared up many things in his mind; it was the soft, subtle sway of a high rise building.

So this must be the penthouse apartment with a rooftop garden, Bruce guessed. That narrowed down the number of places he could be in and narrowed the focus of who and what kind of person might have captured him. At a guess, he figured it to be some sort of corporate entity wanting to make him an offer similar to Tony Stark's, only less of an offer and far more sinister.

Bruce began to walk through the rooms again, this time with an eye for surveillance and his mind on formulating a plan to get out.

*****

When Loki arrived at Bruce's house in New Mexico, he expected dinner on the table and some talk from Bruce about planning his garden for the spring. A merry fire in the fireplace. Bruce's truck in the driveway. Stacks of written-in notebooks, loose piles of paper, and half-read books covering every available flat surface including the kitchen table. Or Bruce on the piano and the cat curled up beside him. He expected a warm welcome. But he never expected to find the house completely empty, but for Lopt who came meowing frantically at him, twining herself around his legs as if she had seen no one in days.

“Bruce?” Loki walked through the house. It was empty, and in the kitchen, the cat's bowl was empty. So he refilled her food and water, and walked around again. As he looked around more carefully, he noticed that the bed was still made, and Bruce's vehicle was nowhere to be seen. Loki checked the date again; Bruce should have been here yesterday. 

“Just give me the day to get settled back in, all right? Then you can come and stay. I'll make that lamb thing that you like.” Bruce's words echoed in his mind. So Loki checked the refrigerator. It was mostly empty, which only made sense if Bruce hadn't come back at all. Bruce was terribly fond of filling his larder after a long trip; Loki figured it as an excuse to eat things for a few days that he could normally not store.

So Bruce was gone. Anyone else, Loki could see as dumping their responsibilities and running off wild for a few days. But not Bruce. Bruce would have never left Lopt hungry and crying...he always came back home on time.

“Bruce.” A strange and sick fear went through Loki, that old friend of anxiety and guilt that he mostly managed through sheer antipathy and a strong dose of ignoring it. Perhaps it was his fault...

No, it couldn't be. That sharp, prickling pride rose up in him, and he knew all at once that it could not have been something he had done. No, someone must have interfered with Bruce's travels, and he was not about to sit idle waiting for something to be done.

Between one stride and the next, the dark wool suit that Loki had been wearing faded and was replaced by armor. Reaching out, he pulled on his great horned helmet. The weight was comfortable on his head, a familiar crown of power that he realized he had not worn in some time, having spent the last few years dealing only with civil matters.

“I've been idle for far too long.” Loki threw his head back imperiously, feeling the shudder of the horns as they moved with him. “Now begins the season of war. I'll get you back, Bruce, even if I have to personally destroy half this planet.”


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Bruce was sitting in the garden eyeing the trees to see if there was one that could support his weight when he heard a door open and close. Pretending not to notice, he took a moment to steady and focus himself, to figure out how he was going to approach the situation. As footsteps grew closer, he stood, turning to face the unknown.

“Dr. Banner.” A polite young woman in a trimly tailored business suit came in, carrying a clipboard and wielding a pen. Pretty, with her blonde hair neatly pinned. She looked like any number of executive assistants that worked for any number of corporate offices. “I'm sure you have a lot of questions.”

“Oh, yeah. I do.” Bruce's lip twitched as he frowned. On a certain level, he felt as though he should be enraged, but that all seemed unusually distant right now. He wondered if it was the drugs they had given him; those were some very serious designer drugs if he hadn't felt hungover or ill.

“Let's cut to the chase, shall we? My employer would like to make you an offer.”

Bruce waved at the apartment around him. “An offer? You mean, like the one that they should have made before kidnapping me?”

“I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but you must understand that you're a difficult man to get a hold of.” She kept smiling, and by the ease with which she did it, made him think that she had spent her life wearing any number of masks.

“Maybe, but that doesn't excuse breaking the law. Tell me what you need.” He decided to be polite and agreeable, at least until he could get his bearings.

“We need your help with a project.” 

Bruce managed to nod politely instead of saying all the sarcastic things he wanted to say.

“It involves gamma radiation.”

“I don't know what you think I know-”

“Please, Dr. Banner. My...employer is very ill. It's known that gamma radiation can be used to cure his ailment, but the technology that exists is very inaccurate and not powerful enough for his particular ailment. We'd like your help in improving an existing device-”

“I'm sorry to interrupt, Miss...” He paused, but she didn't give him her name. So he continued, “But you do realize that I'm not that kind of doctor. I'm not even a nuclear physicist by trade anymore and I've never been an engineer. I'm just a lecturer at the University of New Mexico. Barely a part-timer. I can't see why you'd want me to help you with anything. Surely someone's gotta be better at this than me. I'm basically a glorified post-doc.” For once, Bruce was glad that the people at S.H.I.E.L.D. had put together a plausible cover for his work, even if he had to actually teach a class once every few years or so.

“And I've read all your papers and citations. I know all about your work,” the woman smiled, and he was starting to feel like it was an unsettling amount of smiling. “You're the perfect candidate.”

“Maybe, but this is still a kidnapping.” He glared at her, but she didn't back down, merely continued to smile. “You have no right to keep me here.”

“I think you'll find your situation comfortable and secure. We'll take care of everything, and the sooner you're done with your work, the sooner we'll let you go,” the woman was firm but polite. So no assistant that could be cowed into submission, but at the same time, someone who could take the fall for a greater power. A right-hand man, so to speak? He wondered just how much influence she had in this mysterious organization. “We'll compensate you for your time, of course, and for the trouble.”

“You can't buy your way out of this.”

“Then my employer will make sure that you stay missing,” she smiled, but even Bruce could see that it was not a smile of pleasantry or ease. He recognized a threat when he heard one.

Bruce looked around again, at the incongruous setting, the lavish apartment and the immaculately coiffed and groomed businesswoman who was threatening his life. “At least tell me who I'll be working for.”

“I'm sorry, but my employer expects the strictest privacy measures. I'm sure you understand. Now, was there anything that you might need for your work? I believe you've seen that the lab has most everything you might need, but I want to know if there's something missing that you might require.”

Bruce looked out the window at the empty blue sky above the tower. He thought for a long moment.

“I'd like a piano. I work better when I can play.”

“All right.” 

*****

One step after deciding to go on a Bruce-retrieving rampage, Loki nearly tripped over Lopt who had insinuated herself between his feet. 

“Lopt...” He picked her up and looked at her, tilting his head forward to meet her eyes in a long, serious gaze. She batted her paw at the curved horns of his helm.

“No, you're right. I can't just go gallivanting in there like a foolhardy conqueror. I've made too many enemies on this world who would like no better than for me to reveal myself.”

Lopt yawned and gave him a flat look, so he put her on his shoulder where she dug her claws in to hang on. He couldn't feel it through the material, but he could hear the little scratches against his armor.

“Yes, yes. I must go about this the clever way. Without revealing myself. Like...like Bruce, I suppose.” He sat down at the kitchen table and took some paper that Bruce kept there, and a pen. “Were I Bruce, what would I do?” He stared at the paper, and absently began to draw a cartoon caricature of Bruce, with his metal-rimmed glasses and wavy dark hair. Lopt hopped off his shoulder and settled onto his lap, purring.

And that was it; if he could think through what Bruce had done leading up to the kidnapping, he might be able to catch up with him. He picked up the top few pieces of paper from Bruce's most recent documents, and found among some geometric sketches of abstract objects two things that could help, a copy of Bruce's ticket itinerary, and a bank statement.

“All right, let's see what we can do.” Loki looked at the ticket information first, thinking it over. It probably wouldn't help; the train had long since made its destination, and had moved on. He supposed any clues would have been cleaned off already, and he sighed.

“That would be our last recourse.” He wasn't about to waste time chasing trains. Loki set the paper aside, and looked at the bank statement. It categorized the last month of Bruce's accounts, and looking at it Loki noticed that Bruce had gone to the university early last month and had lunch at their faculty club.

“Well...I suppose it's worth a look to see where he last used money on his trip. Perhaps we will find a clue, Lopt.” Loki pulled up a floating display, his own. Bruce really didn't keep much in terms of high-end or even low-end electronics around. Loki always felt Bruce was too paranoid about such people as S.H.I.E.L.D.

Loki frowned to himself, and ignoring the visual interface, switched the visualization to look at the code behind what was being displayed. Then, once he was in the right place, he slid another layer under the code, until he was looking a world of machine language. He studied it, skimming it over absently the way someone else might read a dense Russian novel for fun.

“Well. It seems as though Bruce bought lunch in Chicago yesterday. That is certainly likely. Perhaps he was waylaid with some business. Let's take a peek, shall we?” Loki did some manipulations, and brought up a few CCTV feeds, from the restaurant, from the corner market next door, and a parking lot adjacent to the restaurant.

He skimmed through the videos and paused it as the transaction was made.

“Now, that's quite odd.” It was certainly not Bruce who was buying food, but a man, burly and dressed in an ill-fitting suit. A hireling, no doubt; local muscle. Loki checked the timestamp and studied the man's face. This was the man who had Bruce, or had something to do with Bruce's absence. 

“Oh, this is going to be so very fun.” Loki's smile was all teeth and no humor. Scooping up Lopt, he stood up, almost violently, kicking the chair back away from him. His cloak swirled around his legs, and Loki looked again at the man, memorizing his face; the piggish eyes and the square-set jaw.

“I'm coming, Bruce.” Loki whispered under his breath. He picked up Lopt who twined her way out of his hands and onto his shoulder, and between one stride and the next, they disappeared.

*****

Bruce looked over the data and the device he was supposed to be working on. Immediately he had figured it for a weapon, essentially a weaponized version of a medical device. He sat in the lab by himself, fiddling over a stack of papers, a computer that was heavily secured against attempts at accessing the mainframe or the internet, and a handful of pencils.

And here he was doodling on scratch paper instead of working, because it was embarrassingly obvious that they wanted him to make an actual, literal gamma ray knife, as if such a thing could be safely used or created.

He wondered what it was like to be so profoundly naïve and stupid as to think the equivalent of a giant MRI-style machine that treated cancer could be condensed and simplified into a high-energy beam weapon. And then steal a scientist to try to make one. And then expect it to be feasible.

He could already imagine what he had to say to his mysterious employer about this project: 'Okay, let's think about this logically. If this were feasible, and that is a big if! Wouldn't you think the US government would already have made this weapon? Don't you think the DoD would have had a patent on it? Don't you think there would be a Chinese model already? A Pakistani one? An Indian one? Even the Iranians would be building one. Someone with billions of dollars to spare and the wherewithal to attract the world's best scientists would have done this ages ago, if this was actually feasible. But it's not, and that's why this weapon doesn't exist. And this is why I hate working for people that aren't me; because it's impossible to do smart work for dumb people.' And his thoughts went on like this.

On a whim, he wrote down some differential equations vaguely related to particle physics, and defined some variables that he knew looked legitimate. There, that would look like work. Then he set about trying to solve them, and spent some time filling up a few pages of paper with some hefty, serious calculus, doing as much of it in his head as humanly possible so that it would take some time to prove the validity of each step that he made. Some of the leaps of logic he made without any rhyme or reason; sprinkled throughout were elements that looked genuine, done in such a way that it would take a lot of dedicated piecing together to realize that the whole thing was a waste of time.

It gave him a pleasant sense of accomplishment; it would take even a person with a Ph.D. in mathematics several hours to unravel it, to realize that the pieces hid no gems of knowledge, and by the time they did that, they would have wasted a lot of time looking at something that seemed plausible from the start.

He spent the day at it, revising and reordering his work, making it into a minor baroque masterpiece; all overstuffed with unsimplified complex fractions, composite functions, and as many factorials and summations as he felt like he could get away with without being too obvious that it was a waste of time.

By about dinnertime, movers had brought up and set up the piano, a brand new Yamaha upright that he guessed probably cost about as much as a car. A nice car. He asked them to put it against the wall near the front door, so it would be convenient but not in his way and they complied. He wasn't stupid enough to say anything more to the movers; they were obviously henchmen, minions of whoever had had him snatched off the train, big guys with as much fat as muscle, twice his size or more, and the look of professional thugs with their ill-fitted suits and their scarred knuckles. Bruce endeavored to stay out of the way as much as possible, though he winced as they slammed the piano against the wall, chipping the plaster and denting the instrument's corner.

Then someone brought him dinner, which he ate alone in the little dining area, barely thinking about what he was eating and mostly thinking about the plan he had for escaping. It wouldn't take too long and all he really needed was right there in front of him.

He took a sip of water from a crystal tumbler and considered his strategy, slowly eating his dinner.


	4. Chapter 4

It didn't take long for Loki to find the man he was looking for; it should have been a much more complicated problem, but with some clever computing he matched face to name and found the man's whereabouts using a combination of Facebook, Snapchat, and Instagram. He found the neighborhood in which the thug lived, the uninspired friends he had, the foolish-faced girlfriend with the big fake tits, but strangely, no mention of an employer. 

It meant he had to do things directly, with a hands-on approach, and certainly that was his favorite approach.

It took a little searching, but once he was on the right path he found the bar easily. It was a grim, working-class establishment tucked into an old industrial part of Chicago, seedy with graffiti and unimaginably unpleasant stains on the sidewalk, dark and crusted over. Loki observed in silence, hidden by his powers. The bar door opened briefly as someone walked out and then back in; the air the man brought with it reeked of old cigarettes and old booze, with a whiff of new and old vomit intermingled.

Loki made a face. 

“Oh, the things I do for you, Bruce...you can't even imagine.” He took a deep breath and a second later, his form changed and he unveiled himself. Herself.

Strapless green minidress that clung to every barely concealed curve, black curling lustrous hair cascading down her back, green smoky eyes...she had dropped her height by about a foot and then compensated with a pair of glittering heels to make up for the loss of height. Loki looked at her long, painted fingernails delicately and beckoned to Lopt, who hopped into her arms, the cat's nose twitching at the smells.

“All right. Let's play.”

 

Once inside, all eyes turned to Loki, but coolly, insolently, she strode in toward the bar. Easy, no difficulty at all; the man she had been looking for nearly tripped over himself trying to get closer to her.

_This is all real_ , Loki thought, as she squeezed her elbows together a little to emphasize her cleavage, _unlike your miserable “exotic dancer” of a girlfriend_.

“Lady! I don't know who you think you are, but no cats allowed,” the bartender growled.

“Hey man, chill,” the thug interjected, putting his elbow up on the bar beside Loki. He stank of sweat and stale beer, and the armpits of his white button-up shirt were stained dark. Loki smiled faintly to herself, the smile not quite making it up to her eyes. “Pussy that fine can go wherever it likes.”

Loki blinked a little at the vulgarity, but kept smiling. “Oh, what a shame that I can't get a drink here...if only there was somewhere else to go.” It was quite literally the stupidest thing she could have said, and it worked like a charm.

“Hey, nice lady like you shouldn't be drinking in a shitty place like this. Why don't we go back to my place?” The thug offered generously. Loki demurred, and he pressed his suit until she shrugged and agreed.

“Sounds...lovely.”

 

Loki knew exactly all the variables involved, plus or minus, and anything that she didn't plan for was something that could be overcome with some basic improvisation. As they stepped into the seedy motel room, she stroked her fingers through Lopt's fur and planned, her goals already laid out, the trap half-sprung and waiting to snap shut.

“So where is this drink that you promised?” Loki looked up at the thug with big innocent eyes, playing it up for all it was worth.

“Oh little missy, I got your drink right here-” and he went to unfasten his pants with one hand, and she sidestepped neatly from his outstretched arm and grasping hand.

“I think I could freshen up a little...” And she ducked into the bathroom, Lopt in tow, locking the door behind her as she went along.

Loki leaned against the sink and looked down at Lopt who was regarding her with patient, cynical eyes. Outside, she could hear the television turn on. She wondered how long it would take before he decided that he had enough waiting. In the meantime, Loki began the next part of her plan, speaking softly to Lopt as she worked. It wasn't hard; it was just a little bit of extra trouble that took about a minute longer than her usual spells.

Before long, there came a banging at the door.

“Hey, come on. Don't keep a guy waiting...you're not afraid are you, baby? I mean, you were practically begging for it.”

Loki laughed, a sweet sound even to her own ears. “We'll see who does the begging.” She unlocked and opened the door without touching it, just a little snap of magic, and the man tumbled into the tiny bathroom.

“Tell me. What do you prefer?” Loki ran her hands down her sides beguilingly. “The lady? Or the tiger?”

From a six pound cat, Loki had transformed Lopt into about a five hundred pound tiger. Lopt snarled, and the sound was a fierce tiger's roar. The cat leapt onto the thug with a graceful hop, pinning him easily to the ground, long fangs at the man's throat.

“Jesus fucking Christ lady, what the-”

“You will address me as 'sir' and answer all my questions.” Loki stepped forward, letting Lopt's long striped tail brush against her bare thigh. “And I may or may not let you live.”

“I ain't talkin- oof. Yeow! Ow! No!” Lopt began to knead a little on the man's chest, knocking the breath out of him while simultaneously shredding his suit, shirt, and drawing lines of blood along his skin.

“She's just trying to be friendly. You wouldn't want to see what happens if you upset her,” Loki said coolly. “You wouldn't like her when she's angry. Now. Tell me where I can find Bruce Banner.”

“You'll never- yeeeeow!”

*****

The next morning Bruce was up just before dawn. Of all the superpowers that he knew about, his ability to wake up every day just before the sun rose seemed to other people to be the most supernatural; it was one thing to turn into a giant beast or to fly or some other such nonsense, it was another to be regularly awake and functional without coffee at such an early hour.

He made himself a cup of mint tea and headed to the piano. Today was the day. If he worked it out properly, by lunch he'd be on his way home. Setting his tea down on a nearby table, he opened the lid and started to play.

A few minutes later, he stopped. “Oh, no. No, no, this won't do.” He shook his head, got up, and pounded at the door. “Hey. Hey!” 

A minute later, one of the guards opened it up and gave him a look. The man looked like he was barely awake, and Bruce was glad for it. “What?”

“This piano is too out of tune to play. I need a tuning tool.”

“Sounds fine to me.”

“Do you play the piano?”

“No.”

“Then you can't understand how terribly out of tune this is. Your bosses should have known that it needs a tuning after being moved around. Anyway, I just need a tuning wrench.”

“We ain't got nothin like that around here.”

“All right, then a pair of pliers. And a regular wrench.”

“Boss said you ain't allowed to have tools.”

“Fine, tell them that I need the tools for the project. It'll only take a minute.”

“No.”

“I can't work unless I have my music time,” Bruce said softly, with the underlying hint of a threat in his voice. “I need my music time to keep sane.” He put on his most withering professor face, the kind that he employed to good use against graduate students and undergraduates alike, and the thug blanched a little. 

“Um...er...”

“Look, you can watch me while I work. I won't even be out of your sight. Then you can have your tools back, and we'll all go back to our jobs.”

The thug glanced around nervously, and then nodded. “Sure, sure. I'll go get them tools.”

The door slid closed and Bruce sipped his tea, biding his time.

*****

Meanwhile, Loki's thug was proving a slightly harder nut to crack than she anticipated. But some hours later, crack he did; all Loki needed was a name, the name of his employer, and it would be all over. The name eventually came out, whether the thug wanted to or not, but that was mostly because getting secrets out was one of Loki's minor specialities.

She left him where he was, on the sticky-damp carpet of a seedy motel, mind snapped, in tears, raving about raven-haired beauties and tigers. To add insult to injury, she picked his pocket, taking his keys, wallet, and cell phone, planning to hand them off to the next homeless person she saw. Make it look like a combination of drugs and a robbery or some such nonsense. Nothing particularly notable in this neighborhood. After all, she had planned it so that even the security cameras wouldn't have picked up her presence.

It was nice being outside; there was a certain charge to the night, an energy that came from impending dawn and Loki took a deep breath as he dropped the illusions. The air was crisp, icy, and it felt good after being cooped up in a stuffy motel room for hours, smelling the stink of mold and fear sweat and urine.

“Good work, Lopt.”

Lopt mewed her appreciation and trotted lightly alongside Loki as they stepped out into the night. It was almost dawn; they would find the place where Bruce was soon and save him. It wasn't too far. Loki looked toward the skyscrapers and began to walk.


	5. Chapter 5

Duffel bag slung over his shoulder, Bruce entered the marble-tiled lobby from an adjacent stairwell as the fire department forced the giant glass doors and rushed in. Chicago, he noted, catching glimpses of their identifying patches. They shouted at him to get out; didn't he know there was a fire? So Bruce obliged, strolling out easily into the early morning light, with no indication of pursuit. Flashing lights filled the gray morning light, and the wail of sirens filled the air.

He shivered as he stepped outside and quickly zipped up his leather jacket. It was bitterly cold; it almost hurt to breathe. His breath came and went in a steaming cloud before his face. Resolutely, he began to walk away from the building. He glanced back to get a look at the name and was almost unsurprised; that would have to be something he would have to discuss with the people at S.H.I.E.L.D. But all in due time. Right now he had to get out of the city.

As he walked away from the mess of fire engines and the arriving police, the streets became emptier, deserted; here a car or two went by, but generally not even a taxi. It must be the weekend, Bruce thought, and he shivered and shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets to keep them warm, regretting the lack of gloves, scarf, and hat. 

All around him tall skyscrapers forested the city with towers of stone and glass and steel that here and there began to catch the warming light of the sun, but only the colors were warm. The air stayed freezing, pure and cold. At least the sidewalks were free of ice; there was something to be grateful for. He walked briskly, and it seemed that the buildings, like large standing monoliths, took a long time to pass.

The cold wind that came off the lake ruffled his hair, and he seemed to shrink into himself as he walked, hunkered down in his coat against the chill of the winter morning. 

He walked the cold city, alert for danger, conscious of the possibility of pursuit, knowing that there might be repercussions for his actions. Retaliation. Revenge. Anything was possible with the kind of man that owned that skyscraper. But right now he hoped for the best; that the circumstances of his escape would have left them embarrassed enough to stay away. To buy him some escape time. That they wouldn't dare attack him in public, in broad daylight. That he could make it home and after his little check-in with S.H.I.E.L.D., perhaps if he was lucky, S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn't decide to post guards or surveillance or anything else that would intrude on his quiet life in the desert.

He stopped at a sidewalk. The sun was up fully now, and he glanced into a corner coffee shop that was not yet open. Inside, the lights were on, warm and inviting, and there was a sleepy-looking woman wiping the counter with a clean white cloth. Her graying hair was tucked back into a loose bun, curling tendrils escaping the coil of hair, and her worn wedding ring glinted in the golden sunlight. 

He smiled a little, thinking to himself that life carried on like this everywhere; no one else had to live his life the way he lived it. In that, he was a statistical outlier, a data point that would be thrown out of the model because he skewed the curve. Had, always been, would always be. That life that he peeked in on, like a voyeur, that life of the coffee shop and the implied daily commutes and routines and tedium and marriage and family and children...that was a life that would always, for the duration of his days, be out of his reach.

He remembered regretting it bitterly when he was younger, angry at his lot in life. These days the sting didn't hurt him as much, but suddenly looking in on this warmly lit world, with the cream-colored walls and dusty silk flowers stuck in slender white vases at each tiny table, it was like all the loneliness suddenly caught up with him, and for a moment he couldn't breath, just blinked and blinked trying to push back the stinging dampness in his eyes.

It's just stress, he thought. You've been through a lot. You're tired. You'll be fine. This feeling will go away and you'll be fine. And he looked up to see if the crossing light changed; it hadn't, and so he glanced back at the coffee shop. But then suddenly the sunlight changed as a cloud passed overhead and instead of seeing in, the window reflected himself.

Graying, five-o'clock shadow times a few days (would it be a twenty-nine-o'clock shadow? Fifty-three? Would that sequence always output a prime? No, at five it was no longer prime). Rumpled clothes, dark shadows under his eyes, glasses slightly askew. When was the last time he shaved? The last time he looked in the mirror? How long had it been?

“Oh Bruce,” his reflection sighed. “I can't leave you alone for even a minute.”

Bruce's breath caught and then he turned and there was Loki, in a black overcoat, over that sleekly tailored black suit he sometimes liked to wear, a thick green knitted wool scarf draped around his neck loosely, some sartorial element as opposed to a necessity. The cold didn't particularly bother Loki. It never did.

“Loki? What are you doing here?”

“I could say the same for you. I was looking for you, Bruce, to rescue you from your captors. But it seems that you didn't need rescuing.”

Bruce smiled at Loki. “I generally never do.”

“How did you get out?” Loki stood very still, his expression schooled into careful disinterest, and there was a tension in his shoulders that Bruce supposed was unfamiliar; he wondered what was troubling Loki.

“Jury-rigged a piano to explode through a wall.” Bruce crossed the street as the light turned; Loki followed at his side. He glanced up at Loki, but Loki's eyes were fixed forward, distant. “It's...it's amazing what you can do with approximately 18 tons of pressure, a wrench, and a pair of pliers. Except it kind of broke a gas line and started a fire when it went through the wall and a panel flew off and knocked a guy out, but it worked. Brute force method always works, given time and persistence.”

“I'm almost disappointed, Bruce. I was ready to storm the tower and rescue you.”

“Like a maiden in a fairy tale?” Bruce chuckled. “Sorry, Loki. But there are no fairy tales for me.” As he said that, the loneliness welled up again, choking up a little inside of him, and he shook his head at himself, embarrassed to feel for something so trivial. Silly, adolescent feelings. He was too old and too rational to think like this. Sentiment and romanticism was for starry-eyed teenaged girls and starry-eyed nineteenth-century composers, not him.

“I don't think you know the strength of my determination, Bruce. I would have leveled this city to the ground for you. I would have leveled this planet if it had to be the case.” Loki's voice was low, intense. “Destroyed your enemies one by one. Tortured those who dared to hurt you and made them grovel for the cessation of suffering at my feet.”

“Look, it's okay. I'm fine.” Bruce couldn't help a nervous chuckle; did Loki really mean those things? Sometimes it was hard to tell what was a joke and what was serious; Loki was fond of florid descriptions and exaggerated wordplay. “You don't have to do any of that. Actually, please don't do any of that. Promise me you won't do any of that.” Bruce dropped his duffel bag to the ground and began to pat himself all over. “See, everything's fine. I'm totally fine. Completely fine. I'm not hurt at all. Just a little cold and tired. Let's go home. We can go to that diner in town and get waffles or pancakes, whatever you like. Then tomorrow I'll make curry--”

“You don't understand, Bruce.” Loki stepped forward, and his brilliant eyes met Bruce's eyes with an intensity that made Bruce take a half-step back. His eyes shied away from the sudden, intense contact; he stared straight ahead and realized he was looking at the long column of Loki's throat, at the pale skin there, and the long line of the sternocleidomastoid muscles along his neck and the v-shaped hollow between them.

“I don't understand what?”

“That for you, I would have done anything. Everything. Perhaps it was good that I found you here by chance, before I entered the tower of your captors.”

Bruce shivered and it wasn't completely because of the cold. He looked up at Loki and this time he didn't flinch away.

“Why would you do that? I'm not anything or anyone. I'm just...” 

“Fool.” And then Loki drew him close and he could feel his heart pounding as Loki tilted his head a little and kissed him. His mind was a blur of confusion, and he almost backed up out of Loki's grip from sheer disorientation, but it was warm under that black coat.

“Loki?”

“You wouldn't recognize it if you saw it.” Loki kissed him again, his mouth softer than Bruce could have imagined, and this time it was as if he felt it all the way down into the tips of his toes. A shiver went through his entire body, from the base of his spine to the top of his head.

“Wouldn't recognize what?” Bruce was trembling, shaking, and for a brief moment of panic he wondered about the Other Guy but then remembered that it was gone, temporarily banished.

“Love, you fool.” Loki drew him against his shoulder and Bruce blinked, confused. “You wouldn't recognize it if it fell from the sky. You wouldn't recognize it if it challenged you to a fight to the death. You wouldn't recognize it if it courted you on bended knee. I've been chasing you for years now, but you're harder, warier prey to run down than anything that I've ever hunted before in the Nine Realms. I thought perhaps you'd see it yourself someday, and that I would not have to confront you with it, but then you were captured and I have grown weary of the pretenses that we keep--”

“You were worried? About me?”

“Bruce, did you even hear a word I said?”

“I...”

“You're hopeless.” Loki sighed. “Absolutely hopeless.”

Bruce had nothing to say to this, no witty retort, no clever observation, no questions, no answers, no philosophy. All he had was nothing inside, a blank where his emotions were, from an inability to process. It was as if what Loki said would not compile in his mind, hit a coding break and was no longer able to function. A bug in the system. A fatal error.

“I'm sorry, Loki. I don't know what to say to that...”

He looked up at the sky; it was blue, the bright blue of cold winter mornings between storms. The few dead leaves at the very top of the tree shivered and one broke off in the wind, to twirl down in jagged flight before disappearing down a street.


	6. Chapter 6

Bruce was quiet for a long time, not saying much, letting Loki lead them away. Lopt appeared; she had been waiting in a nearby car. They drove the long miles back to New Mexico, and during that time Bruce mostly slept, passed out in the back seat, Lopt curled at the back of his neck as the soft sounds of music came through, drifting in and out of his consciousness.

Occasionally Loki glanced back; every time, Bruce was asleep, or at least he was lying down with his eyes closed. He sighed, wondering if it had been right to tell Bruce the truth.

 

It was late by the time they made it back to New Mexico, and Bruce had been awake for a few hours, though sitting quietly in the passenger seat, deep in thought. His face was a fixed blank whenever Loki sneaked a glance, the low sodium vapor light of the occasional streetlight giving very little indication as to what Bruce was thinking, as to how he was feeling.

They stopped by the little all-night diner in town for dinner; Loki had waffles, fruit salad, and a pork chop, and Bruce poked listlessly at a turkey dinner before packing it up to go. They made it back to the house so late that it was more like very early. Lopt bounded in. Sniffing at her realm and finding it to her satisfaction, she disappeared into the living room. Bruce briefly surveyed the scattered papers at the kitchen table, the knocked-over chair. 

“Loki.”

“Yes?”

“I've been thinking.”

“Oh?” Loki picked up the chair casually and righted it; he seemed to recall knocking it over in a fit of rage. Carefully, he turned to meet Bruce's eyes as he straightened up some of the papers.

“It's not suitable. I mean, us. We're not suitable. For each other.”

“I respectfully disagree.”

“Wait, hear me out. I have my reasons. For one, you're what, like a million years old...”

“A few thousand,” Loki gave him a glare. “I'm a young god.”

“And I'm mortal. A middle-aged mortal. I have an expiration date. So there's that. I'd die sooner than it'd be worth it for you to pursue this. I mean, don't you perceive time differently than me? Oh, and you're an alien, and I'm not. Are we even biologically compatible? And you're an intergalactic fugitive criminal and I'm supposed to be an Avenger, whatever that means. And sure, you like my cooking and I like your...well, I like your you. Meaning, your company. But that's not really enough of a foundation for anything like what you've proposed.”

“And?”

“There are many other reasons why we're completely unsuitable. Oh, here's one: we're both male and as far as I know and as far as my experience goes, I have never swung that way-”

“So?”

“And...and it's just not right. I've looked over all the factors. All the variables. This isn't a function of me not appreciating your interest or anything like that. It's just simply that this sort of thing isn't meant to be. I'm sorry, I'm tired. I had a lot of other reasons but I can't remember them all right now.” Bruce hugged himself, looking away.

“Liar,” Loki walked over, placing his hands on Bruce's shoulders. “There's something you're not telling me.”

“Maybe not, but it has nothing to do with you.” Bruce could feel that sinking emptiness inside. The reality was even worse than he thought. The long journey had given him time to think, and he had realized that he was not only a statistical outlier, but an emotionally broken one. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate Loki's feelings, it was that even though a certain part of him wanted to, he could feel nothing in return. It was just a blankness, deep inside, and he knew that it was wrong, knew that it was a factor of his own flawed nature. He had known he was broken, but he had never known how deeply it went, that he could no longer even appreciate the knowledge that he was loved.

“Why wouldn't it? It has something to do with you. So it concerns me.” Loki leaned over and kissed Bruce's cheek.

“I...” And before he could say anything incriminating, before Loki could tease the truth out of him, Bruce drew away. “I'm going to take a shower and go to bed.”

“Of course.”

“You're not going to push me for an answer? This isn't like you.”

Loki shrugged. “I've been waiting for years. What's a few days more? A year? A lifetime? Besides, you've made yourself perfectly clear.” And there was almost a mocking tone in Loki's voice, as if he didn't fully believe Bruce's intent.

“I'm serious, Loki.”

“Oh, I believe that you believe it right now. But I think you should give it some time to think on it before you give me a definitive answer.”

“That was my definitive answer.”

“Right then.” Loki's smile was almost brittle, and Bruce had to look away. Had his words hurt Loki? But then, if he really had hurt Loki, Loki would probably have stormed out in a fit of pique. It wasn't as if they hadn't argued before; if Loki was really upset, he'd just leave and not come back for a while. But here he was, staying and Bruce honestly did not know why. 

“Good night.”

*****

Loki gave him some time alone before going to bed; Bruce liked his solitude, and from the fixed, wary look in his eye, he needed some time to retreat into himself, without anyone around. By the time he made it to the bedroom, Bruce was already asleep, having done so with a book in his hand. It happened most every night, and it always made Loki smile a little.

Loki gently plucked it out of Bruce's lax fingers, and set it aside. It wasn't math or physics or even a journal, just a small folio of translated poetry that Bruce liked to read sometimes, something by an ancient mystic who had died centuries ago.

He drew the covers up over Bruce's uncovered shoulder, before turning off the little bedside lamp and getting to bed himself, on the far side.

The moon spilled cold light into the room, illuminating the nighttime land between the house and the mountain.

They were almost close enough for him to reach over and take Bruce in his arms, but that would wake Bruce; he was too light of a sleeper for that. Best to let him come over on his own and sometimes he did, seeking warmth, though Loki always carefully disentangled them before dawn, to keep Bruce from knowing. It was better that he didn't know; knowing would have upset him too much. 

And yet now Bruce knew how Loki felt, and he didn't seem as upset as Loki thought he would be. In fact, the bewildered look in Bruce's eyes spoke more of surprise than rejection. He would have understood rejection; he was preparing for it. But Bruce's consternation and refusal of acknowledgment...well, that was a different thing altogether.

It wasn't as though he hadn't been in love before. After all, he had had many love affairs in his life, many with mortals. Sometimes a few at the same time. Life was both too long and too short to deny the needs of the heart and the needs of the body. And yet here was someone who denied both, easily. Who lived in the world of the mind in entirety, almost forgetting the existence of his body.

Once, years ago, when they had first met, they had walked the rocky mountainside on a snowy night and Bruce had alluded to a promise, a secret vow that he made to himself that he didn't mean for Loki or anyone to know. But Loki, who loved secrets, had pieced together the clues over the years. In some ways, he knew Bruce's mind better than Bruce knew it himself. 

Bruce had promised himself never to want. It was just that simple. It was terribly clever; there were whole philosophies on Midgard dedicated to the notion. Wanting nothing, he would suffer nothing. Bruce had obviously assiduously trained himself against feeling, against desire, against the world. And yet he had seen the way Bruce looked at him sometimes; it was the most fleeing of glances, but then Loki was an old hand at recognizing when someone was appreciating his beauty. He was certain Bruce didn't know his own mind on the matter.

He could hear Bruce's breathing; Bruce was snoring, just a tiny bit, the way he did when he was extremely tired. Whatever had happened over the last few days had obviously taken a lot out of him.

Loki closed his eyes. Whatever the case, Bruce would come around. And if not, he had at least not ruined the terms of their friendship. Bruce had not rejected him outright and sent him packing.

He reached out across the bed, so that the tips of his fingers could feel the warmth radiating from Bruce's body, but Loki didn't touch him.

It was enough for now. It would have to be.


	7. Chapter 7

Sometime just before dawn, the anger returned to him, like a low-grade fever. The other guy. It stirred restlessly in the cage of his flesh, grumbling, upset at having been more than denied, but banished, speaking to him in no uncertain terms as it could sometimes do that it did not appreciate his choices.

Bruce had been dreaming, troubled dreams, glimpses of his past, visions of carnage and mayhem under the crushing strength of his broad hands, the furious roar that tore from his throat. The crush of metal and stone and brick beneath his feet, beneath his fists. 

They had tried to stop him; they couldn't. They had tried to tame him; they couldn't. And they had tried to cage him; that was a bad idea. And he should not think to try to stop himself, to tame himself, to cage himself. That was a mistake too. He would have to pay for what he did to himself.

Bruce woke in a sweat, his heart pounding in a jittery way that meant no good, and he made a noise, a strange strangled noise in his throat that sounded alien to his ears, trying to calm himself, but he was on the verge, on the brink, the way he hadn't been in many years, the way he hadn't wanted to ever be. Not in this house; he'd ruin it and it wasn't even really his to begin with. S.H.I.E.L.D. would be by, wanting to know what had happened; he knew they did some minor satellite surveillance of his place. There would be repercussions that might last years and no, he couldn't, couldn't lose control, not here, not like-

“No.” And then he knew it was too late, and he could feel the muscles in his body stretch, bulging in that painful, yet satisfying way, and his pajamas were tearing around him and then-

And then he found himself pinioned to the bed. A cool mouth pressed down to his and kissed him hard and he was so shocked that his entire body moved in a sharp spasm and suddenly it was over, the other guy had subsided. But the kiss went on.

The comfort of Loki's arms around him brought out a deep longing and sense of security that was oddly familiar, and he realized it was something half-remembered from a dream. Yet this was no dream.

His heart was still pounding, but it was different this time, thrilling.

It would have been logical to push Loki off, to draw away, but what was happening was more like dream logic; it made more sense to let it go where it did, to let Loki kiss him and to tentatively explore Loki's mouth as well, like a gentle crush of snow against his lips but so much softer. 

“I'm sorry.” Loki began, but Bruce cut him off, his arm moving to tentatively wrap around Loki's slender waist.

“Don't be. You don't...you shouldn't be.” And all of a sudden, it was like he could feel his heart again, as if the distance he had from it had suddenly disappeared and emotion almost overwhelmed him. The memory of that early morning in Chicago returned to him, as clearly as if it had just happened moments ago.

Loki had said he loved him, and he hadn't been able to say anything in return. “I'm the one who should be sorry.”

“Bruce?”

Awkwardly, hesitantly, unsure of himself, Bruce drew Loki down for a kiss and then he realized had always wanted to do this, but had never dared to even let himself think about the possibility.

“Bruce...can...can I touch you?”

“No.” Bruce said reflexively, but then he shook his head. “Yes. No. I don't know. I'm sorry. I don't know what I want.”

“Then I won't press the issue.” But then Loki shifted a little and pressed a kiss to Bruce's throat and the pleasure of it made him shudder, all the way through his entire body.

“Ah.” Bruce made a little sound, more than a sigh.

“How long has it been, Bruce?” Loki's hands ran over Bruce's arms, his chest, fingering the frayed and torn edges of his pajamas.

“I don't remember. I don't know. A long time, I guess.” And yet if Bruce thought about it, he could probably calculate it to the day, if not the hour. It had been a Tuesday night, he thought. It had been spring. The sweet scent of jasmine had seeped its way into his room and the moonless night was so dark and she was so beautiful and he knew at that moment that he didn't deserve such goodness in his life, had never deserved it nor her...

“A long time.” Loki kissed him again, bringing him back to the present. “I won't ask for anything that you're unwilling to give. If you like...I can change to make this more comfortable for you.”

“No. Don't. Don't change. I...I like the way you are.” Bruce clutched at Loki's waist as if he were a survivor clinging to a float in the aftermath of a shipwreck. “What I mean is that I like you the way you are.”

And this time he could feel Loki tense, the hand that had taken Bruce's hand and entwined their fingers had twitched without meaning to.

“Bruce.” His voice was hoarse with unspoken emotion. “No one has ever said that to me.”

“Someone should have. I can't understand why they wouldn't.”

A cold gray light began to seep into the room, and Bruce could see the unshed tears in Loki's eyes and he was surprised.

“I'm sorry. About everything. I mean, Chicago. I don't know why I couldn't answer you. It seems so stupid now, looking back. I don't know what was wrong with me.” Bruce drew Loki against his shoulder. “I hope I didn't hurt you.”

“You didn't,” Loki lied. “Not really. I'm rather strong in that regard.”

“Lucky.” Bruce let his fingers tangle in Loki's dark hair, the way he always wanted to, brushing aside a curling lock to look at the beauty of that narrow face, the brilliant, pale eyes. A beauty that he had never truly considered, a delicately drawn masculine beauty that he had always admired aesthetically without letting himself feel anything for it. It was as if he had never seen Loki before clearly.

“I want to make love to you, Bruce.” Loki murmured against his shoulder, his voice low, intense. “To ravage you and make you blush and to give you pleasure in whatever way you like. I want to see see if your eyes change in that moment when you orgasm and I want to see you lose control, just for that little moment, and I want to hold you afterward, and feel your heart as it calms into that gentle beat of sleep and the relaxed stillness of your body as all the tension leaves you. I want to know you, Bruce, in entirety.”

Bruce felt himself tense at the words; he didn't know what to say, though it sent a strange feeling through him, an odd sense of longing, intermixed with an edge of fear.

And then Loki continued.

“But you're not ready. I can tell. You're not ready for anything more. You're barely certain about this.” Loki stayed where he was, and his head, heavy on Bruce's chest, shifted just a bit and Bruce could tell he was listening to Bruce's heart.

Bruce wondered what Loki was hearing.

“When you are ready...I'll be here waiting. However long that takes.” And Loki's eyes closed, and his breathing evened out and he fell asleep, his breaths calm and almost silent. Bruce wondered at that for a moment, but then he looked closely, at the dark, bruised-looking flesh beneath Loki's eyes, and the lines of tension around his mouth. 

He had never seen Loki look so exhausted and then with a pang of guilt, he remembered that Loki had been searching for him, and then had driven them home. He had been pushing himself, all for Bruce.

Bruce drew the covers around them, and he folded the bedding just a little, forming some shade for Loki, to keep the light of the rising sun out of Loki's eyes so that he could sleep more soundly.

Bruce closed his eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

When Loki woke, he was alone and Bruce was gone. He got out of bed and between one step and another, his clothes shifted from ones suitable for sleep to clothes appropriate for the outside world.

He looked around the house, but Bruce was gone. Food had been left out for Lopt, the house had been cleaned. Bruce's truck was also gone. So he had left.

Loki sat down on the couch and wondered what he should do. Should he leave? Continue his work for a while, come back when he felt it right? But then Bruce might not forgive him and besides, he didn't really want to go, not quite yet, despite the things he had to do that awaited him. Lopt came by, sniffing at him disdainfully before twining herself around his legs, shedding orange fur onto his black suit.

“Rascal.” He picked her up and held her in his arms; she twisted out of his grip to clamber onto his shoulder, gnawing at the ends of his hair.

“I'm delicious to you, am I?” Loki muttered, and she continued, blithely mussing his hair into a tangled mess. He plucked her off his shoulder and she settled into his lap with a rumbly purr. With a little motion of his hand, he drew out a comb from nowhere and began to brush his hair. It would be easier to use magic to fix his appearance, but there was something pleasantly visceral about the tug of the comb through his hair, the little twinges of pain as the teeth caught on a knot that he had to unravel with his fingers.

The gray afternoon light of winter seemed particularly cold, and he ended up curling up on the couch so that his long legs weren't dangling off the end, though his feet stuck out a little, and with Lopt, a warm, purring softness against his chest, he found himself falling asleep again.

In his dreams he thought he heard Bruce's voice, coming to him from a vast wasteland of ice and snow, and he smiled just a little to himself, knowing that he wasn't alone.

 

It was night and there was the good smell of cooking in the house when he woke. Loki tried to remember when he last ate. His stomach growled, and it caused Lopt to wake with a thrash. She sprang up and ran off to hide under the piano, glaring at him from the shadows. Loki laughed.

Bruce peeked in. “You're awake.” It wasn't like Bruce to state the obvious, but Loki just smiled, brushing back his hair. Apparently the cat had been at it again while he was asleep. This time, he merely gave his head a little toss and a moment later his hair fell back into place, immaculate.

“Whatever it is that you're cooking...” Loki yawned, stretching out, a quilted afghan sliding off of him as he did so. He didn't remember covering himself; that must have been Bruce's doing. “Smells fantastic.” He stood up, plucking the quilt off the floor and tossing it back onto the couch carelessly.

“Lamb. Roasted leg of lamb studded with garlic. With potatoes and root vegetables and so forth.”

“That's different. You usually try to stretch things out. No stew? Curry?” Loki came over. Bruce looked like he was done; the dishes were washed, and he was sitting at the kitchen table poring over his notes.

“I thought we'd celebrate a little. I even bought you wine.” 

“Goodness.” Loki raised an eyebrow. “Shall I open it? Do you even know how to open a bottle of wine anymore?”

“I never really learned,” Bruce shrugged and looked back at his papers, obviously eager to get back to his thoughts. So Loki opened the bottle, pouring Bruce a taste and then pouring himself a generous glass.

He drank wine and watched Bruce work. When Bruce pushed the paper back and set it aside with a sigh, he asked, “Now Bruce, what's the occasion?”

“Um, not dying? Being rescued from Chicago? Beating traffic on the way back? Uh...I suppose any number of reasons.” Bruce looked back down at his paper, but it was in such a way that Loki knew he wasn't actually reading or working. 

“Perhaps something else?” Loki teased.

“Perhaps.” Bruce shrugged. “I just felt...well, happy, I guess.”

“Oh? About what.”

“Life. Being alive. Getting paid.” Bruce smiled. “Apparently, and I did not know this, but S.H.I.E.L.D. is sending me a bonus for that tip about my kidnappers. Oh! And lamb was on sale. Surprising, isn't it? It almost never goes on sale.”

“You...talked to them?” Bruce looked up at Loki; there was an odd note in his voice.

“I have to, sometimes. Especially after what happened. I couldn't put off the inevitable, not when my safety is at stake. They said they'd take care of it.” Bruce shrugged, tapping the eraser end of his mechanical pencil against the paper. 

Loki was silent for a moment, and then he looked at Bruce, his voice carefully level. “Did they say anything about my brother?”

Bruce's hand paused. “Sorry. No. I didn't think to ask. It wasn't really a social thing. I spoke briefly with an agent...I think you may know him.” Bruce looked away. “From that thing in New York a few years back.” Bad memories. He stared at his work fixedly, jaw tightening. “Anyway, it was just information being passed around. He didn't say anything about um. Your brother.”

“Oh.” Loki looked disappointed, and Bruce quickly changed the subject.

“You know, I have been meaning to ask you something...”

“Oh? What's that?” Loki perked up, wondering if it had to do with the bedroom and such things that might occur in it.

“This.” Bruce flipped through a few loose sheets of paper, and held up a page. It had a drawing on it, a little caricature of Bruce that Loki had drawn a few days ago. So much had happened since that day it felt like weeks. Months, perhaps. “What exactly is going on here?”

“I was thinking.”

“You were drawing on my research. In pen.”

“Was I?”

“In pen, Loki. Pen.” 

“I'm sorry. It was an extreme situation that called for extreme measures. Desperate measures, if you will.”

“I told you you could draw on whatever you liked, as long as it was pencil, so I could erase it. But...but...pen!?”

“Then you shouldn't keep pens around.”

“I need it for bills. You can't pay bills in pencil.” Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “Seriously, a dozen pencils and you somehow pull out a pen. What are the odds? I mean, obviously one in thirteen...”

“It was completely by accident.”

“Do you know how hard it is to do numeric analysis without a computer? You managed to put it right over the most important parts of this problem and it's been so long since I did this that I don't remember what the values are anymore.”

“I can recalculate it for you, if you wish. I will show all my work. All for you.”

“No, Loki. No. Just...I'll redo it myself when I have some time. Or just use a damned computer. I'm sure they have Mathematica at the university...” Bruce flopped back in his chair, his palm pressed to his forehead. “It's fine. Fine. I shouldn't have done it by hand anyway. I know...you didn't mean it. I'm just...disappointed. No writing in pen on my work in the future, okay? No pen. Pen, bad.”

Loki smiled a little to himself and made his way over, dropping down to kneel beside Bruce's chair.

“Then...what can I do to make it up to you?” 

Bruce opened his eyes and his gaze slid slowly over to Loki and there was a look of alarm in his dark eyes. “What?”

“Let me do something to make this up to you. Whatever you like.”

And just then, before Bruce could say anything, even if there was something he could say to that, the kitchen timer went off in a ringing buzz.

“Dinner's done.” Bruce stood up quickly, and headed over to the oven, and Loki straightened up, watching with amusement as Bruce bustled around the kitchen.

*****

After dinner, Loki sat at Bruce's side while he played the piano. It was a little late for music, as far as Bruce's regular schedule was concerned, but it had been over a week for Bruce, between the conference and the kidnapping.

“Loki...” There was a long pause as Bruce went through a tricky section, and then he spoke again, “I was wondering. What exactly was in that potion?”

“Natural things, mostly. Some organic compounds that you probably would not recognize, some that you would.”

Bruce finished the piece with a flourish, and the notes rang through the room. He set his hands to scales. 

“What would I have recognized?”

“I suppose it depends. Water, for one.”

“Obvious. What else?”

“A tincture of a plant native to one of the Nine Realms, I can't recall which one, though perhaps it grows in all of the ones suitable for plants. It grows like a weed, but it's quite useful medicinally.”

“What's it called?”

“Oh, I can't recall. It's trivial, as you would say.”

“What's the active ingredient?”

“I think you call it THC.” 

“Excuse me?”

“It's mostly that. Well, a form of THC. That's where the magic comes in.” Loki gestured. “The magic subtly alters the molecular structure...the details are all rather fussy and dull.”

“Hmph.” Bruce paused, halfway up the circle of fifths. “Funny, I've tried that before and it never worked. At least not enough for me to really notice.”

“Really.”

“It was an early experiment.” Bruce shrugged. “It didn't go anywhere. Well, except Taco Bell, I guess.”

“Hmm.” And noticing Bruce had stopped playing, he put his arm around Bruce's shoulders. “Tell me more about your experiments.” Loki's voice was a low, intimate murmur.

“Loki.” Bruce smiled at him, recognizing Loki's words for what they were: flirting. “I appreciate your interest but...whatever's changed between us--and I'm not sure what--my concerns still stand.”

“Did you re-convince yourself that this was a bad idea?”

“Look. Look at it this way. Here's another reason this would be a bad idea. I can't believe I forgot to mention this. Remember that time you almost ended life on Earth...?”

“That is a horrible insinuation, Bruce. I only meant to conquer it. You know as well as I that I have been terribly good since.” Loki drew him in for a heated kiss. Bruce tensed, only to find himself slowly relaxing in Loki's grip. But then he drew away, shaking his head a little, though his glasses were faintly steamed up.

“Loki.” He paused to catch his breath. “You know...that I care a lot about you right? You're my friend and I--”

“Yes. I know. And I know that you're worried about all this.” Loki untwined himself from Bruce and stood up. “And right now I want more from you than what you want to give, or at least, what you think you want. That is why I've made a decision.”

“Huh?”

“I'm leaving now, Bruce.” Loki smiled at him, a little sadly, a little wearily. “You need time. Thank you for the lovely dinner. We'll discuss this another day.”

“Wait, Loki-” Bruce reached out for him, but it was as if Loki was insubstantial, disappearing before Bruce could catch hold of him.

“It's better this way,” Bruce said to himself. Outside he heard Loki's car start with a roar, and the sound began to move, fading away quickly in the stillness of the desert night.

“It's better this way.” He said it again, as if it would convince himself, and then he found himself straining to hear the sound of Loki's car, but it was already too far away.


	9. Chapter 9

Winter turned to spring. The desert bloomed with flowers from the late winter rains, and sometimes he would go for long walks in the cool mornings just to look at a little cactus that overnight unfolded shockingly bright flowers, or a lone bloom that suddenly sprouted alongside the trail up onto the mountain. Clusters of miniature starry flowers grew everywhere, and the desert felt like a vast, minimalistic paradise made just for him.

It wasn't as if he wasn't used to being alone. Often Loki would be gone for a long time, a year, even more. But somehow this time Loki's absence was different, and Bruce felt the weight of his absence keenly. He imagined Loki at his side, asking him if he was ready. Imagining Loki at his side, in his house, like an invisible presence that kept him company, though there were days that he felt like he was driven to distraction by loneliness, unable to work or do anything of use. One day, unexpectedly and for no good reason, he spent most of the day lazing in bed with a book. But even it was hard to read; instead of reading, his mind would wander, remembering that night when Loki shocked him out of his transformation.

The other guy, after establishing dominance, had subsided; it was almost meek, if such a thing could be meek. Or perhaps Bruce had too many other things to worry about, to think about, other than it.

Gradually the flowers dried up, withered, turned to seed. Around the same time, his garden was growing; the seedlings he had nurtured in his kitchen window at the end of winter grew vigorously in the mild spring weather and were now large plants. 

Some days he wondered why he never asked Loki the most important question; why him? He wasn't particularly special. He wasn't beautiful; not displeasing to the eyes perhaps, but nothing special. He was smart, sure, but Loki was too, and it wasn't as if they were constantly engrossed in deep and meaningful conversations about philosophy or science or art. Bruce thought of himself as rather boring; he tried to stay out of trouble and mostly succeeded, whereas Loki was trouble incarnate. So here he was, essentially unremarkable, and Loki, as beautiful and dangerous as a force of nature, wanted him? It seemed so very unlikely, to the point that he wondered if it was some kind of trick. A dream. Something from which he'd wake and realize was pure foolishness, a game more suitable for children than adults. 

And yet he considered Loki's words, playing his memories over and over again. Had he truly heard right? When Loki had kissed him that first time in Chicago, he had been looking at a sign across the street, an advertisement for a travel agency. Visit Beautiful Hawaii. The Land of Alohas. A palm tree and a sunset in the picture. He didn't even know if that was a proper way to pluralize 'aloha'. It was a stupid thing to fixate on, but in his memory, it almost stood out sharper than the kiss.

What did it all mean? Other than some sleepless nights and jangled nerves, wondering when Loki would come back. Other than a sort of weary resignation, thinking that Loki would have changed his mind by now, assuming it wasn't some kind of complicated joke.

Spring turned to summer and still Loki didn't return. The tomatoes ripened on the vine, and once a week he was canning them for winter, washing and sterilizing jars to fill with cooked tomatoes. This year he also took up pickling; neatly sliced cucumbers were soaking in their brine, and he was considering trying to pickle other things like small green tomatoes or carrots and radishes.

The summer heat intensified and with it came drought. This year was worse than other years; his plants were starting to die. He cut back on watering all but a few plants and took only the most minimalistic of showers as his well was drying up. Every time he went to town, he overheard people talking about how things were going to be bad this year.

And then came the summer storms.

Just as he was wondering what to make of the drought, if it was going to push him out of his home into a town somewhere, the rains began, terrible storms with sheets of lightning splitting the massive, endless sky. He would watch storms advance onto his house inexorably, columns of thunderheads in the horizon that slowly wended their way over. 

But today, the coming storm was a little different; there was something wrong about the kind of storm, something Bruce couldn't put his finger on. From a distance there was an almost misty look to them; it was pouring rain. That was not unusual. But there was something else, something about the almost vortex-like configuration of the clouds that made him feel uneasy. Soon the storm moved closer, and he had to unplug the appliances and electronics and turn off the lights, the few that he had, as the lightning intensified, striking close enough to shake the house.

“Maybe it's just a storm. Maybe a god. Maybe just summer in New Mexico,” Bruce said to himself with a wry smile. Back then, it had been just a storm. And so it would be now. It would be unlikely to be anything else. In the darkening late afternoon light, he sat down at the piano and played from memory, not for serious practice but more for mere pleasure.

The growling thunder grew more intense, the lightning striking more frequently, and he stopped playing mid-phrase, wondering if somehow there was something like a supercell overhead, if it would turn into a freak tornado. He wondered how seriously he should take the storm. Should he be sheltering in his bathtub?

Suddenly, he felt as if the temperature and pressure in the room fractionally shifted, growing a little colder and denser.

Sometimes that meant Loki. Bruce waited for a moment, feeling his heart pound in anticipation, but nothing happened. Today it was just the weather. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the backs of his hands. The pressure depressed the keys; it was an ugly chord, just a cluster of random notes under his fingers.

Too early for dinner, far too early for bed. Getting too dark to read or work, unless he wanted to light some candles. Nothing else he could do for now. He went to the kitchen window and sat at the table, watching the storm raging outside his window. The branches of the mesquite tree in his yard were whipped around by fierce winds, some of them breaking in the gale. The house shuddered and Bruce wondered how much longer it would last.

Suddenly, the kitchen door slammed open, and the sudden change in atmospheric pressure sent papers flying.

Bruce stood up, pushing the chair back. All around him, his papers filled the air, fluttering in the gale. His breath caught and his throat seemed almost to seize up, choked with unfamiliar emotion.

“Loki?” There he was, in the flesh, sleek and elegantly dressed in his Asgardian clothing. The clothes looked a little different; was there more gold? Less green? The specific details momentarily escaped him, but whatever the case, Loki was looking far better than the last time Bruce had seen him. There was a little smile on Loki's lips, a playful, trouble-making smirk and Loki radiated a confidence that Bruce wasn't sure he had seen before. Before Bruce even realized it, he had taken a step forward, paper crumpling under his foot.

“There you are. Please, hurry; I haven't much time.”

“Time for what?” Bruce blinked, wondering how he was going to re-order all his papers; they were everywhere, blowing past him as if a miniature storm itself. Lopt came running over. Bounding over fluttering pages, she leapt into Loki's outstretched arms and twined herself around the back of his neck.

“Trust me.” Loki took his hand, and drew him out into the storm, closing the door behind him. Bruce winced, expecting to be battered by the wind and the rain, but it was as if they were surrounded by a protective bubble, some kind of magic that was holding the elements at bay.

“Where are we going?”

“You'll see.” And then as they stepped away from the house, Loki wrapped his arm around Bruce's waist, drawing him close. Bruce put his arms carefully around Loki and felt his heart skip a beat as Loki brought his other arm around Bruce's shoulders, holding him tight against his chest. And then out of the corner of his eye, Bruce saw the light around them suddenly shift from a gray, dark afternoon into the broken stream of rainbow colors shredded into what seemed like long streams of pixels, and then they were gone.

**Author's Note:**

> This series is essentially an AU that veers into its own thing after the end of the first Avengers movie. Much thanks goes to WingsMadeofTin for insightful input and for helping me unstick my story when it got stuck. Thanks also goes to Nami, and she knows why. 
> 
> The title has various meanings in Scandinavian languages. I'm following the Old Norse, where it means companionship, and something like a guardian spirit that can appear in dreams. 
> 
> Bruce's brief disconnection from the other guy means that he is temporarily disconnected from his true feelings, his strong, passionate feelings. Thus Loki's admission being untimely. He still has feelings, but the very strong feelings (hatred, love, anger, etc.) were muted along with the other guy. Notice his very calm, very clinical acceptance and management of his kidnapping; it helps him get out safely, but at the same time there is something very cold and unemotional about how he deals with his situation. So at the end, when "potion" wears off and the other guy comes back, Bruce is overwhelmed. He then deals with the way he knows best; with logic, reasoning, and slightly bewildered denial. Unfortunately that can't solve every problem in life.
> 
> The unnamed people who had Bruce kidnapped are associated with Bernard Gunn (borrowed from the Fraction Hawkeye comics). Toward the end, Bruce is reading Rumi. There is a scene in the first Thor movie where Thor draws all over Jane's research in pen. I imagine Bruce is not nearly as casual or accepting in a similar situation. THC can be a dissociative.
> 
> I'm currently working on a sequel to this story, [The Konungr](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3127601/chapters/6778490).


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